Domingo

This Sunday morning, after having busked until about 1 AM, then returned home where I must have been asleep, after having had a vegetarian meal of succotash

and potato wedges that I baked so they were as crisp as fries on the outside and were like baked potatoes on the inside, probably around 3 AM, I woke up, refreshed, alongside Harold at about 10 minutes before noon.

As soon as I stood up, my phone chimed with the message: Patriots/Jets game starts soon. At last something useful comes out of that phone instead of an ad trying to sell me tires for my "Jeep."

Immediately, I thought about riding my bike to Harrah's Casino, where the game should be on one of their TVs, since the hometown Saints aren't playing until late in the afternoon, being in Seattle.

My mood was a lot better, even though I had had a dream/nightmare that I have had a lot before, where I am looking for something that I never find; or that I am at an airport and my luggage was sent to the wrong city and I am trying to get to that city to get my luggage in the dream but always wake up before I do...

Getting ready to look like a tourist, ready to gamble at the casino. I will be betting that I will be able to stand around watching the Patriots game without gambling, while there....

Ten minutes before the game is to start (left).

No time to straighten out the studio a bit before hopping on my bike and heading for the casino.

After a strong cup of coffee.

The 33 bucks that I made the night before was "a good thing" and hopefully will take the despair out of going out to busk in the upcoming days, something which had crept into my psyche after a couple months of nights where I might only make 5 dollars by going out.

One might say that that is better than nothing and that I should still go out every night. But this doesn't factor in the wear on the guitar strings, when I could take the luster off a brand new set from a couple hours of hard playing in the heat when the strings would wind up as covered in sweat as me...

I got nicotine pods for my vaporizer last night, and I must admit that a lot of my despair and depression and complaining stems from not having nicotine, which is an addiction.

But, don't most people leave their houses to go out into the world to fuel their addictions?

I used to be on the treadmill of going out to work just so I could have a trailer in Florida, where I could flop down on the bare mattress in the unfurnished room to rest up so I could go back to work, in order to keep the place, and to line the wallet of the guy who was renting (to own*) it to me.

*It became apparent to me that the guy was hoping that I would stay there and make monthly payments, but would screw up at some point before the title was actually transferred to me, so he could put some other sucker in the place for another 4 or 5 years of paying rent before screwing up and being evicted...

I am grateful for the situation I have now, now that I think of it.

So far, the voodoo is working...

And kind of feel silly about feeling suicidal at times. I think if I actually do go out to busk every night, religiously, then that will take care of a lot of those feelings, come what may...

If I'm not going to get a job peeling potatoes or something then, what other choice do I have...holding a sign by the road at some intersection?

Those spots are already taken, by skeezers whom have placed a folding chair and/or a cooler there, to claim the spot for themselves...